She waited another minute before taking off the spectacles and wiping her sleeve across her face, using the perspiration to clean off the charcoal dust. Finally, she sat up and shed the men’s clothing. Smoothing out all the wrinkles, she donned first the skirt and then her chemise. She wanted to unwrap the tight binding around her bosom since it was chafing her skin, but she hesitated. She had to get back to her family before they investigated her connection to Buster Bliss—if they hadn’t already.

If Astrid pushed her to admit anything, what would she say?

Her attention strayed to the pulpit where Father Zieber preached most Sundays. Here she was standing in a church and wondering if she oughta lie. What kind of lowlife had she turned into?

With a huff, she plopped onto the bench and picked up the bodice that matched the skirt. But the tight linen across her chest constricted her, and without another moment of hesitation, she hoisted up her chemise and began unwinding the long strip. The chemise over the top made the process cumbersome, but she couldn’t imagine going the rest of the day and into the night wearing the binding.

She unwound it as fast as she could, but somehow it tangled in the back so that she couldn’t pull the last section free. She considered taking off her chemise, but with the way the linen was wrapped, she was afraid she’d get the undergarment halfway up her head and find herself stuck.

“Holy Saint Peter.” Her skin was overheating from the exertion in the stuffy room. She’d rushed herself, and now she’d gotten into a predicament. Maybe she was gonna have to wind the strip back up and wear it for the rest of the day after all.

The side door creaked, and she gasped, grabbing her bodice and using it to shield her chemise. This time she couldn’t duck down and hide. She couldn’t even run away, not in her state of undress.

As a man slipped silently inside, she immediately recognized the lean frame and muscular body.

“Go away, Jericho,” she hissed. “I’m mad at you and don’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“You’re mad at me?” His voice was tight as he closed the door. “I’m the one with the right to be mad. Not you.”

“You threw the race and let me win.”

“You shouldn’t have been racing to begin with—” As he turned and caught sight of her, his words fell away. In a sweeping glance he took in her state of undress, and his eyes widened.